With every ounce of will I had left, I pressed against the blinding pain, tamping it down even further, and finding my center once again. The pain was still there, lurking like a specter, but I could bear it.
I would bear it.
I forced my head up, meeting Necklace’s eyes.
“What happened?” he said, looking down at his necklace, his face contorted with terror.
I called on the huge reservoir of power, which had only grown since I’d used it last, and attacked. With one sweep of my hand, I lifted his body into the air, twisting it as my own pain faded away, leaving behind a sweet relief.
Necklace raised an arm, screaming for me to stop. For a moment, I was filled with a vengeful hatred, wanting to go even further in my assault on him, but held back. Unlike him, I took no true pleasure in causing pain. I released him in one fell swoop, dropping him to the ground in a heap, before blasting my cell door off of its hinges with a thought and walking toward him.
“How?” he managed, barely able to speak through a blubbering fit of snot and tears.
“You’re a petty man doing his best impression of a witch. I’m the real thing,” I said, shoving back my revulsion to grab his necklace and snap it off with a rough tug.
I ignored his shouts as I rushed out through the door leading out of the room. Judging by the unnatural angle of his ankle, he wouldn’t be following me anytime soon, and, unlike the Organization, I wasn’t into cold-blooded murder.
As I stepped into the hallway, I headed left, which was the opposite way from where we’d come in. My mind went back to the two times I’d felt the pain that the necklace could cause. Now, as I looked at its beautiful, delicate design, my crippling fear of the thing was gone. I had overcome it and things were different now.
I was different now.
I was drawn away from my thoughts at a strange alarm sound in the distance, like some kind of warning system. Had Necklace triggered some kind of alarm to signal my escape? I didn’t have much time to think it over as a man came charging down the hallway, a pistol on his hip and a radio pulled close to his face.
He jumped as he saw me, reaching for his gun, but I was faster, throwing him to the wall with a sickening thud. I walked up to him, hoping I hadn’t overdone it, and was happy to find that he was still breathing. “Don’t come after me and you’ll be fine.”
“Damned witch,” he spat, pulling a knife from his belt with his unbroken left arm and stabbing toward me with it.
I blasted at him again, sending the weapon flying down the hall. “I’ll be taking these,” I said, pulling his gun from his holster and the walkie talkie from his combat vest. He struggled halfheartedly against me but he was in no state to resist.
I stepped back, shaking my head as he cursed me, and clipped the walkie talkie to my shirt. “There has been a breach in the perimeter,” a crackly voice said through the radio, “I repeat, there has been a breach.”
I cocked my head, wondering what they meant by a breach. Where were we and who would want to attack the Organization directly? Could it be the police? It all snapped into place as the next transmission came through.
“All units, be advised that the intruders have been identified as two witches from the Crow’s Feet Coven and the Traitor himself. All hands on deck!”
The Crow’s Feet Coven?
That was us. Mee-maw, Patrick, and Zoe were here.
A shot of terror-laden adrenaline pumped through me as I broke into a run.
In my headlong rush into near-certain martyrdom, I had forgotten about the compass. If I’d taken it, they couldn’t have followed me.
It was too late to cry over that puddle of milk now, though. I had to find Finneas and take him out, and quickly, before they got themselves hurt, or worse. I barreled down the hallway, turning left when I had to, and gulped as I realized that the hallway didn’t have any more turns. There was one door at the end that was different from the others, made of thick steel with no window.
Having no time to spare for stealth, I called on my magic and slammed it forward, denting the door inward and bashing it off of its hinges as if it was made of aluminum foil.
I sped into the open room in front of me to find high ceilings and a single wooden door in the back with two guards standing in front of it.
“Stop her, even if you have to kill her!” a voice came from the room behind them, cracking with fear.
I pulled my hand back, ready to send out a blast of magic, when a smattering of bullets whizzed by me, burrowing into the wall just behind me.
Way too close.
I straightened and flicked my wrist, sending the guards sailing into the door behind them in two crumpled piles. One let out a pained cry before dropping to the ground, and the other was silent, but I didn’t have time to worry whether I’d wounded him mortally or not when Finneas could be escaping.
I opened the next door, using magic to blast the lock, but, other than furniture and some shelves stacked with bric-a-brac and boxes, it was empty. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of an open window and sprinted toward it, heart hammering.
“Finneas!” I shouted, my voice guttural and deep, a furious rage rising in me as I thought of all the witches that his people had murdered in the past and how Mee-maw, Zoe, and I could’ve been just like them.
I shimmied through the window, landing in what looked like a small courtyard, right as a kaboom sounded and a jolt of pain shot down my right leg. I looked up to see our greatest enemy, the leader of the Organization, standing just a few dozen feet away, a rifle pulled against his shoulder.
“I guess it’s about time we end this, then,” he said, shaking his head as he readied himself for another shot.
Chapter 23
The haze of adrenaline powering me was the only thing keeping me from doubling over at the pain in my leg, but it still felt like someone had plunged a knife into my thigh. My body buzzed with magic, determination, and yes, fear, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I stood there paralyzed, staring down the barrel of Finneas’s gun.
The shock of being face-to-face with the man who had already tried to kill me once was quickly overshadowed by the knowledge that he was about to try again. I managed to get my legs working a split second before another shot rang out in the courtyard, but his aim was good, and I wasn’t quite fast enough.
I let out a hiss as the bullet pierced my left arm, bringing another surge of pain with it. Glancing down at the wound was a mistake, and I couldn’t help but cry out when I saw the hole, which was already gushing dark red blood.
You’re going to wind up with more holes than a colander if you don’t shape up, I thought frantically as I made a mad dash toward the section of the courtyard lined with bushes, trees, and dilapidated benches.
Not the best as far as cover went, but I only had so much to work with.
A hot, red spot was staining my pants—I was losing blood, along with my focus.
Another shot ricocheted off the stone wall behind me, sending fragments of rock raining down on top of me. I wasn’t liking all these close calls. Now that I had a little protection, it was time to turn the tables and get on the offensive. Whirling around, I reached for the reserve of magic I had been tapping and let out a manic blast of energy, but lifting my arm was a mistake; the pain was almost enough to knock me off my feet, and I wavered, causing me to miss Finneas completely. The charge of power hit a nearby shrub, sending leaves exploding into the air on a puff of wasted energy.
“Stop,” he demanded, training his gun on me once more. “It’s over, Cricket.”
I longed to make a snarky reply, like a movie action hero, but the pain was too much for me to do anything other than grit my teeth and summon my magic again. I was losing control of it—like it was getting away from me, and I was helpless to stop it.
Not good.
Finneas shot at me again, and I used my good arm to let out another pulse of energy. It was enough to knock the bullet off its course, but my energy was
flagging, and I knew it.
From the looks of it, Finneas knew it, too, but he needed to reload. Time to act.
Groaning with the effort, I crouched low in the bushes. My limbs were starting to feel like jelly, and there was a ringing in my ears; he must have hit an artery, which was bad news for me. I couldn’t help dropping to my knees behind the thicket as my injured leg finally gave out. “You really want to make this difficult, don’t you?” Finneas called, hoisting up his rifle again. He was hunting me like an animal, and he had me backed into a corner. “Fine,” he said when I didn’t respond. “Have it your way.”
I lurched out of the way, pushing another pulse of magic in his direction just as he shot at me again, but my aim was only getting worse the more blood I lost. My shirt was already soaked with it, and the world was starting to spin around me. I bit my lip—it was all I could do to keep from passing out—and tried to summon another spell, but it was no use. I was losing my grip on my magic. The dizziness worsening, the world felt like it was going to close in on me at any second.
Frantic, I fumbled for something, anything, that might stop him—or at least delay the inevitable…and then my fingers closed around the amulet in my pocket. Gingerly, I pulled it out and examined it. It radiated a dark energy, and just looking at it made me feel sick to my stomach, but there was no time to get squeamish. Finneas was lining up another shot, and he was aiming right between my eyes. Digging deep, I scrambled for the last remnants of my energy, channeling it into the amulet before raising it in one last, desperate gesture.
Finneas stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d been struck by lightning, and then the rifle clattered to the ground. He let out a gut-wrenching cry of pain, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself as the pain coursed through him, rocking his body. His eyes clamped shut, and he yelled out again: “Please…make it stop!”
I grunted, sitting up a little straighter as I continued to force my remaining power into the amulet. It felt bad, using a dead witch’s magic—especially magic this destructive—but I knew that if the shoe were on the other foot, I would want my sisters to do the same with mine if it meant saving their lives and the lives of their covens.
“Please!” Finneas cried again, his voice hoarse. “You got me, all right? Just…please…no more…” His words subsided into tortured moans, and I was surprised to find myself feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. I knew what this amulet did to a person. He just suddenly seemed so utterly broken. And something in Finneas’s voice told me that, in spite of it all, he was sincere…about this, at least. I put on the brakes as best as I could, pulling the magic back out of the amulet and lowering my hand, which was shaking from the pain and the effort.
The world was still going fuzzy around me but I remained on guard and ready to fire again as he sat there panting for a long moment, his eyes wide and staring, before he slowly struggled to sit up, cradling his head in his hands.
“Cricket!” The sound of Patrick’s voice was enough to pull me back from the brink, like something from a dream. How on earth…? I looked up to see him, Mee-maw and Zoe charging out of a side door and into the courtyard, metaphorical guns blazing—literal guns blazing in the case of Mee-maw, who had her pistol drawn and at the ready, like something out of James Bond. Zoe and Mee-maw rushed to me, and I could only look up at them as they dropped to the ground beside me.
“Bloody hell,” Patrick said, putting a hand on my shoulder as Zoe and Mee-maw took in the sight of my injuries, “what happened?”
“Finneas shot me.”
“I’ll say,” Mee-maw muttered, although I could hear the thinly-disguised panic in her voice. “He went full-on Rambo on you! But it looks like you’re doing better than he is,” she added, sparing a glance to a still-moaning Finneas a handful of yards away.
“I got a few good shots in,” I countered. “What are you doing here?” I added, hissing as Zoe pulled my shirt sleeve away to examine my wound.
“We saw your note,” Zoe explained. “We came to create a distraction.”
“And when they came after us, Zoe managed to knock them out with a noxious potion she made into an aerosol. We knew you had to take Finneas on alone, so we figured we could at least keep the rest of them from making it any harder. And it looks like we were right to come,” Mee-maw added, glancing down at my shot leg. “Your dad’s a real piece of work,” she informed Patrick.
As if remembering that his father was still on the other side of the courtyard, Patrick glanced over at Finneas, who had finally gone silent. For a long, tense moment, the two men just stared at one another until Patrick slowly got to his feet and walked over to him.
Fear shot through me as I watched. “Patrick--”
But he held up a staying hand as he approached his father. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice breaking.
“Patrick,” Finneas began, “listen--”
“No,” Patrick snapped, shaking his head. “You lied to me. For years. You involved me in something I’d never have agreed to…you hurt people. You told me my mother didn’t care about me.” His voice was lethal and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
“I was afraid,” Finneas confessed, looking his son in the eyes. “I know that’s probably hard to believe right now, but it’s the truth. It all started out as plain old fear of the unknown. I was scared of your mother, at first—for longer than I want to admit. Her powers were dangerous, and I worried what would happen if she turned on me—or god forbid, you. It was only after she had blossomed and truly came into her power that I…I…”
“You started to resent her,” Patrick snarled.
“Yes,” Finneas admitted. “Her strength made me feel weak and small. I wanted the woman I loved back, but that love turned into hate. I don’t think I really even realized it was happening, at first. Once she left, it felt like she had abandoned us. I was so angry. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were…and I was willing to do anything to make that happen. So I joined the Organization, to find her. To force her to come back.” He shook his head. “In hindsight, I should have realized that was exactly why she never did.”
“It was you all along,” Patrick breathed. “The whole time you told me she didn’t care about us anymore, you were the reason she was afraid to come back.”
Finneas swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears. “When you were young, yes. For what it’s worth, Patrick, she loved you more than anything. And if she could have come back into your life once you grew up and left home, she would have.”
Even through the pain and lethargy from the lost blood, the full meaning of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. One look at Patrick was enough to tell me he had understood, too, and I watched as his expression shifted from one of confusion to one of horror.
“She’s dead,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Finneas dropped his head and began to weep, his body shaking with shame and despair. “Yes,” he said through his sobs. “The Organization located her decades ago. By then, I was so full of rage and wrapped up in my own feelings of betrayal that something inside me had snapped. In order to rationalize what I had done, I had to convince myself that witches were craven creatures of the devil and it was my job to ensure they were exterminated.” He lifted his gaze back to his son, who was looking at him as if he’d never met the man in his life. “The second I stopped, it would mean facing myself—and what I had done.” He took a shaky breath. “It would mean admitting that I was a monster.”
“You are,” Patrick said, his voice wracked with a mix of pain and rage.
“I deserve that,” Finneas replied. “But by the time I truly looked within and realized what I’d become, it was too late. I was already at the mercy of someone much stronger than me.”
Patrick’s brow furrowed, and Mee-maw, Zoe, and I exchanged a look. “What are you talking about?” Patrick demanded.
“I was wrong to persecute them. I will own that. But you need to understand…Not al
l witches are good, son,” Finneas said, shaking his head. “Some are the kind that made the Organization fearful of magic in the first place.”
“No more lies,” Zoe snapped, getting to her feet and taking a step towards the men. “Haven’t you blamed witches enough?”
Finneas shook his head and swallowed audibly, suddenly struggling to catch his breath. “I wish I was lying. She’s evil incarnate.”
“Who?” I asked, my voice coming out as a croak.
Finneas faced me, his expression strained. “The witch who has been splitting her time between controlling your coven’s Everlasting Conservator and me. V--” He began to hack, his mouth opening and closing and his jaw clenching as he fought to form the word. I realized with a surge of dread that this was exactly what had happened to Connie the last time we had seen her. Finneas grit his teeth, his whole body going tense as he struggled against the power of the spell. His barking cough intensified, the harsh grating sounds rocking his whole body as he choked out a single word.
“Verbena.”
The word had barely left his lips when his body began to sizzle, his skin blistering and the moisture leaving his body in a cloud of steam. We could only watch in horror as he continued to shrink, his screams dying just before he collapsed to the ground as dry and leathery as a museum mummy.
My eyelids fluttered as I tried to process this all, even as darkness tried to drag me under. I was losing too much blood at the hands of Finneas Byrne for the second time. But when his mummified corpse sat upright and its mouth began moving like that of a macabre puppet, I managed to tune back in to my surroundings.
“So, sisters of the Crow’s Feet Coven…” Finneas’s cadaver said, its mouth opening and closing grotesquely like a marionette, “it looks like you’ve neutralized my favorite pawns. I wonder if you’ll be as successful when you have to face the queen?”
Brewing Trouble Page 19